by Carly Keene
And then he picks me up and tosses me onto the bed, like I’m made of feathers. I gasp at the bounce, but the mattress must be good; Girl Sasquatch doesn’t break the bed.
“I want you, Willa,” Mason says, standing by the bed. He’s fully naked now, absolutely beautiful head to toe. He is all man, from his beard to his hairy chest to his groin, where his cock stands proudly for me, down to his muscular thighs.
I showered carefully earlier, shaving everything that needed it and making sure I smelled fresh. I chose my underwear carefully too, picking a cream lace bra and a matching pair of cheeky panties that make me feel girly. Now, I am so glad I did.
“I want you, Mason.” I hold my arms out to him, and he joins me on the bed, nuzzling into my cleavage.
“So beautiful,” he whispers. “So much woman.” I shiver with pleasure as he unhooks my bra and kisses every inch of my breasts, circling in on my nipples one at a time, his other hand gently caressing. I reach down and stroke his shaft, feeling the tender skin over the hardness, wanting it inside me but unwilling to interrupt his worship of my boobs. I feel beautiful right now.
When he starts to kiss farther south on my stomach, fingers still gently rubbing at my nipples, every cell of me is lit up. I stop him, sitting up quickly and moving between his legs. He makes a sound of protest, but I say, “No. I want to.” And I lean down to kiss his cock. I kiss the head, I lick it, I take just that part of it in my mouth. He groans loudly. I don’t know if I’m doing it right or not—my college boyfriend always wanted to rush through this—but Mason is lying there moaning softly now and then, his hands gentle in my hair and his cock even harder under my hands and in my mouth. I’m so wet now that I feel moisture trickling down my thighs.
“Stop,” he says, finally, pulling my head away. “Please. Stop before this is all over too soon.” He reaches a hand to me. “Come here. Your turn.”
“No,” I say, too shy. But I lie down next to him and pull his hand to my crotch. “This. Please. Touch me here.”
His cock is hot and slick against my hip, and his fingers are clever enough to find my most sensitive spot right away. “Fuck,” he says, and claims my mouth in a fierce kiss. “You’re so wet.”
“I want you.”
He strokes my clit, kissing me, and although I am still aching for the feel of that monster penis inside me, I’m so ready that my orgasm takes me by surprise. I jerk and gasp, my pussy spasming around his fingers, and the sweet torment stops while I come down from the peak. Then, almost immediately, he starts taking me back up the mountain. “No,” I say, “I need you. In me. Now.” And I reach for him, pulling his manhood toward me.
“Condom?” he asks, holding back.
“I’m on the pill. And I’ve been tested. We’re good.”
“Me too,” he says. “Haven’t been with a girl for a long time.”
“Then make love to me.”
The moonlight shines down on us through the windows, lighting us with that clear blue radiance. His eyes are dark, but I see love in them. I feel love in the way he holds me, the way he gently pushes inside me. The way he tenderly licks my nipples and moves my hand where I can touch myself, even as his thrusts become harder and faster, even as we work together to find our release, it all builds and builds until I’m crying out again, full and complete. It’s in the way his deep voice calls my name as he finishes a moment later.
It’s in the way he rests his forehead on mine, then kisses me. It’s in the way he pulls covers over us and tucks me into his side for sleep.
This is love.
CHAPTER SIX
Mason
She is everything I have ever dreamed of—and more.
Every bit a woman. Every inch of her made for me, and maybe every inch of me made for her. We just fit.
A long time ago, I got tired of not being myself with a girlfriend. None of the girls I dated when I was young wanted me to be me; they wanted me to be who they wanted. They wanted a man who never got dirty, who made a lot of money, who got rid of his country accent and never drank beer and liked jazz or whatever wasn’t country music. They didn’t want me.
Willa wants me.
And I want her, the way she is: a big girl, full of life. Generous with her smiles and her help and her time. Honest and open. My Willa. My everything.
She wakes in the night, and that wakes me. Her fingers are gentle in my hair. I can see the rise and fall of her chest with her breathing. I caress her incredibly full breasts, feeling the nipples tighten, and I begin kissing them again. She touches my chest, her fingers light on me, and I’m instantly hard once more, even before her hand slowly makes its way to my cock.
“I want you in my mouth again,” she says quietly. My dick quivers in agreement.
“Yes,” I tell her. “But I haven’t gotten to taste you yet, so we’re doing that first.” She inhales sharply, and the sound of it makes me so horny that it barely takes me .3 seconds to put my face between her thighs and give her a lingering lick from slit to clit. She gasps, and I can’t help smiling. This is my woman. This is her taste, sweet with a hint of salt and another hint of my own cum, and it’s fucking addictive. I work one finger inside her cunt, and then another, reaching for that ridged spot inside, while I’m giving her little button the attention it needs. I can tell when she gets hooked, because her clit swells and my fingers are wetter than before, and her breathing speeds up. Then her hips tighten, thrusting toward me, so I know she’s getting closer. I finger a little harder, massaging her belly above that pristinely-shaved pussy, and she comes, with a little gush of sweet liquid.
She grabs my hand. “Stop. Come here and fuck me, Mason. Please.”
When the woman of your dreams begs you to fuck her, the only response is yes, ma’am. It’s just as glorious as it was the first time, her sweet cunt hot and welcoming, taking most of my monster length with exactly the right tightness. I manage to hang on long enough to give her another orgasm, and I swear to fuck, that is the best feeling ever—Willa coming on my cock, her pussy squeezing me with every muscle contraction, as I pour my juice inside her.
“I love you,” I say into her hair.
Her arms come around me, but she doesn’t speak.
“It’s probably too soon,” I go on, “but I can’t hold back. You should know how I feel.”
There’s a silence that goes on long enough that I realize it is too soon, and I’m just about to tell her it’s okay, I can be patient, when she speaks. “I think I love you, too.”
“Ah. Well, that’s a good thing,” I say, and then I pretty much pass right into happy sleep.
Satisfaction lasts until the morning. The sun’s just coming up when I wake. She shifts in my arms, then rolls against me. Swings one leg across me. By the time she’s completely straddling me, I’m fully hard and capable again. She slides that sweet wet pussy of hers along my length, taking her time, back and forth. I can’t see her eyes in the dawn light, but her nipples are tight, and she makes a tiny gasp every time she bumps her clit into my cock head. I reach up to touch her nipples.
“You feel so good,” Willa whispers. “You make me feel so good.”
I don’t know how I can stand not having my cock inside her, but I wait while she makes little pleasure noises, sliding along my cock. I wait until she’s close to coming, and then I reach down and position myself at her opening, and she takes me inside. We both moan at the ecstasy. I rub her clit while she rides me, and the feeling of reaching orgasm at the same time is amazing.
She settles beside me, sighing in satisfaction, and we kiss. “I don’t know how I will get through this day without wanting you,” she says.
“I don’t think I can be in the same room with you and not touch you,” I say, my voice husky with emotion.
“I have to shower,” she says with regret.
“And I should go get my truck,” I say, resigned. “At least your virtue is preserved. I didn’t park outside your door all night. Will you come to my house for dinner
tonight?”
“Just for dinner?” She gets out of bed, tempting me with that peach of an ass. Fuck. Me. I had her three times, and it is not enough.
“Well, you’re definitely on the menu, but I’ll feed you real food too.”
She laughs. “It’s a date.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Willa
I can barely keep my mind on my work all day. Mason does me a favor by staying out of my way and working his crew hard—and I think he knows it’s a favor, too, because the few times our eyes meet, he lets the heat between us flare for like half a second before he turns away.
Quitting time, come soon.
We work late that day, getting everything ripped out before the rewiring and the reframing of the hall begin tomorrow.
Only Jeff’s still hanging around when Mason comes to find me in the front yard. Jeff gives me a warning look, and I glare back. “You’re not my brother.”
“Not your dad, either,” Jeff says. “Nice guy as far as I can tell. But we’re leaving in less than a week, and this is not like you.”
I was hoping to forget about that.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” I say in all honesty. “But he’s been a gentleman unless I asked him not to be, and I’m going to trust that.”
Jeff holds his hands up and makes his mouth into an obviously lips-zipped line. “Your funeral.”
No, my pleasure.
I get into my little Prius and follow Mason’s big truck over the mountain into the next hollow and up the side of the mountain beyond that, to a little log cabin tucked into a sheltered place halfway up. It’s lovely and rustic, quite tiny. It only has one large room and a loft reached by ladder, plus a little bathroom, but it’s cozy.
“You want to shower?” he asks. “Go ahead.”
“I’m starving,” I admit. “Shower afterwards, though.”
“It’ll be done soon. I’m hoping to buy my mamaw’s house someday,” he confides, lifting the lid on a slow cooker. “You like vegetable beef soup?”
“I like to eat,” I say firmly. “That smells fabulous.” I come over and hug him from behind. “I thought you could tell I like to eat.”
“Everybody likes to eat.”
“Next thing you’ll be telling me you like a girl with a little meat on her bones,” I say, not quite kidding.
“I do,” he says. He replaces the lid on the cooker and turns to me. “I don’t know why you think you’re too big.”
“I’ve been told that at least a couple of times,” I say.
Mason makes a snorty noise. “Too big, my ass. Everywhere I look at you, I see something I wanna squeeze. Girl, you are the most incredibly sexy thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Then he kisses me, and I kiss back, and before I know it I’m parked on my ass on the kitchen counter with him between my legs, amazing heat where our groins are aligned, and I forget all about the shower. I unbutton his shirt, he unbuttons mine. We wrangle my bra off, and he dives right into my tits, sucking and squeezing, while I go for his belt buckle and kick my work boots off. We’re sweaty. My hair is in a scraggly ponytail, and I probably smell like drywall mud and sawdust, and I don’t care.
The steel-toes go clunk when they hit the floor, and it makes me laugh, but only for a second because he steps back long enough to unzip my jeans and drag them and my cotton panties down to my ankles. The panties dangle off one foot, but I don’t care, because he’s unzipping his work jeans far enough to let that beast of his loose, questing between my thighs.
I’ve been thinking about him so much all day that I was already wet, and the urgency has made me even wetter. His fat cockhead rubs over my clit—once, twice, a third time—and I’m suddenly desperate for him. “Fuck me, Mason,” I plead. “Now. Don’t make me wait.”
“You need to come first,” he says, and captures my nipple again.
“I want to come on your cock,” I say, my voice low and rough. “You can make me come. Please.”
He groans out loud, and gives in. He shoves that gorgeous monster inside me in one long slow thrust, and my head falls back. I press him closer with one foot on his ass, bracing myself with my arms on the counter. He kisses me neck, arms holding me close to him while his beautiful cock thrusts faster, harder. “Oh,” I say. “Oh. Mason, fuck, you feel so good.”
“So do you, sweet girl,” he growls. “Want you so bad.”
“You’ve got me,” I gasp, and then I can’t talk anymore, I’m soaring higher and higher, feeling naked and open and sexy, free, and then I’m coming so hard my vision blacks out. I come back to reality to feel Mason groaning incoherently, his hips pounding into mine, and then a jet of heat inside me. Mason breathes hard into my hair, holding me tightly.
We don’t talk for moments. Gradually his penis slips out of me, softening, and I feel a stream of moisture leaving me, probably making a mess all down the cabinet. My panties finally drop off my ankle to the floor.
“How long?” he says, looking into my eyes.
I shake my head, confused. “How long what?”
“How long do I have you?”
I can’t answer right away, because the obvious answer is, “just under a week,” and it’s becoming clearer to me that it’s not an acceptable option. It’s starting to feel to me, even after only a few days, that anything less than forever is unsustainable.
But what choice do I have?
Quit my job? My job that I like, where I feel appreciated and needed?
Leave home and family for a guy I just met three days ago?
Beg him to leave his home and family for a girl he just met three days ago?
Any sane person would tell us to slow down, get to know each other better, and decide later if we want to uproot our lives to be together.
If it’s real love, it’ll wait, sane people would say.
Maybe I don’t want to be sane.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mason
She doesn’t answer me. I couldn’t have predicted how much that would hurt, but it hurts like hell.
Mamaw would tell me, “Slow and steady wins the race, boy,” and I know she’s right. She hasn’t even met Willa, and I wonder suddenly if I’m crazy. Will my parents and sisters like her? Will my folk-wise grandmother like her? I think they will, and yet I’m not sure they’re going to get the chance.
Finally Willa speaks. “We just met each other three days ago,” she says softly. “Is that enough time to make a decision about the rest of our lives? How much do you hate the idea of a long-distance relationship?”
Some of the tightness in my chest relaxes, because at least she’s saying relationship. She’s not talking about flings or having fun, she’s saying rest of our lives.
“I think I already know we’re serious,” she says, one gold-streaked brown lock dangling out of her ponytail into her face. She blows it out of the way. “I think I already know there’s an us. What I don’t know is all the things I don’t know—like how do you treat your mother? What happens when you have a shitty day and the neighbor’s dog gets in your way when you’re in a hurry? What makes you scared, what makes you lose your temper, what makes you cry?”
My throat tightens, and I guess my hands tighten on her too, because she yelps a little. “Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“It didn’t hurt,” she says. “It startled me.”
“I’m scared of losing you,” I say, and it comes out in a whisper. Suddenly I have a mental picture of what we look like: her naked and disheveled, me bare-assed with my pants down around my boots. If I tried to walk, I’d fall. I let go of her and bend to pull up my jeans.
“Don’t go away from me,” she says, and her voice sounds bruised. “Don’t hide what you feel. I’m scared of losing you before I even know what we could be to each other.”
I buckle my pants and step away from the counter. “Need a hand down? Still want that shower?”
She hops down on her own and stands in the kitchen, naked and glorious, a fucka
ble hourglass body, hands on her hips, hair a mess. Our sex juices running down her leg. My dick makes an abortive attempt to rise, and then subsides to rest up a little.
“Mason.”
I look at her, angry and scared and sad, my chest aching. She’s going to leave me.
“I’m going to take that shower,” she says. “You can come in with me if you want. Then we’re going to have dinner. And then we’re going to talk about how we’re going to use the days we have to make a decision. Together. About if we want to keep on with this, and how we are going to do that. Agreed?”
I keep looking at her, wanting her with all my heart.
“If you want me to leave, I’ll go and we’ll—” she swallows hard—“we’ll behave like nothing happened, we’re just colleagues, we just had dinner together and that’s all. But I don’t want that.”
She doesn’t want to leave.
“Stay,” I say. And then it dawns. Maybe she’d want me to leave here for her. I turn and look out at my view.
I grew up here. I love it here. This is my place. But maybe I could leave it for my woman.
“We can decide later,” she says, sniffing back tears and lifting her chin.
I see her bravery, and I decide to not let her outdo me. “Okay. We’ll shower, and we’ll eat, and then we’ll talk about how to do this.”
She sighs, and her body sags against the cabinet. “Good. I was scared you were ditching me.”
“I’m going to have to sanitize the cabinets,” I say, not looking forward to the cleaning job.
She laughs. She stands there, leaning against the cabinet, still naked and glorious and recently, thoroughly fucked, and she laughs the way babies laugh, with total joy, and that might be the very moment when I hit bottom. When I know I’ve fallen as far in love with her as it’s possible to fall, and I won’t get back up unhurt.
So. I might better fucking make the fall count.
“Shower,” I say firmly. “Then we eat. Then we talk. Get a move on, woman, I’m starving.”
